


In Another Life

by championofnone



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, M/M, for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/championofnone/pseuds/championofnone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern magic is in technology, in secrets, in alliances, and there is no shortage of any of them in Kirkwall. The Templar force is tightening leashes everywhere it can and fights with the Magisters are becoming more and more common. Kirkwall is no longer the City of Change, but the City of Chains. And there might be only one person who can stop the tide before it washes everything away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Another Life

Kirkwall was supposed to be different. More noble than rustic Ferelden to the south, less pompous than Orlais to the west, less corrupt than Tevinter to the north and all the other Free Marcher cities in between. It liked to call itself 'The City of Change,' a place where one could rise above their challenges and make themselves anew.

If you asked the residents, they'd call it the City of Chains. 

From the spires of the Chantry and the skyscrapers of Hightown to the slums of Lowtown and the undercity of Darktown, liars and thieves made their homes in the city. Noble blood didn't make you a saint, and it would only protect you so far before the Magistrate would catch your greedy little fingers. But sometimes, Kirkwall might actually have a reason to declare itself the true city of change. That reason came from Lothering. 

 +

 "Garret, if you say we're 'arriving on the winds of change' one more time, I might actually throw you out of this plane." 

The man laughed, a full sound that started from his stomach. "We're Hawkes, Carver, _Hawkes_. It's perfect." Carver sighed, a strained noise born from years of exasperation towards his older brother. 

The family's hometown of Lothering had been stricken with plague, and the five of them barely made it out of the small town in time to catch a flight to the Free Marches. The youngest Hawke drew the short straw and got the seat next to his brother. He was sorely wishing he had his twin's seat next to their father.

"Garret, leave your brother alone," his mother chastised. Leandra Hawke was a woman who was careful not to let age betray her - for someone approaching her late fifties, she barely looked a day over forty, laugh lines etched in her skin and greying hair neatly tucked into a loose bun. "Save your humor for Kirkwall, Maker knows what we'll find there."

"Hopefully Uncle Gamlen got your letter," Carver mumbled, slouching in his seat as much as possible. "We're probably not going to be the only refugees there."

"Ever the optimist, you are."

"Shut  _up_ , Brother."

The overhead speaker crackled to life before they could continue making jabs at each other. "Please prepare for landing," the pilot announced. "We will be arriving at Kirkwall National Airport in twenty minutes." 

"Well," Leandra said, tucking her magazine into her bag, "are you ready?"

Garret grinned. "Bring it on."

+

"Bring it on, you said.  _Bring it on_. Maker, Brother, could you hex us any further?"

"Carver, for once in your life,  _stow it_." 

They'd arrived in Kirkwall with little more than the clothes on their backs to find the airport on lockdown due to the massive surge of refugees. There was no way into the city, and officials were blocking every door into the city. 

“What do we do?” Bethany asked, worry furrowing her brow. “Should we see if Uncle Gamlen is around?”

“Let me try calling him,” her mother replied, digging for her cell phone. Malcolm, their father, had gone to speak with a security guard about why the refugees were sequestered in one gate of the airport. She finally found the phone and quickly dialed, stepping away from the noise to make the call.

“Hopefully Mother gets through,” Bethany said, quickly retying her hair into a loose ponytail. Chestnut brown like both of her brothers, it had gotten long in the past few months, and she usually kept it tucked into a scarf she rarely went anywhere without. “I don’t want to be stuck here long.”

“None of us do, Beth,” Garret replied, scratching at his beard. “This doesn’t look like a fun bunch.”

“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice behind them said, “could you help me?”

Garret and Bethany both turned to face the woman, bright red hair being the first thing they noticed about her. “Yes?” Garret answered. “What can we do?”

“I am Aveline Vallen,” she said, hoisting her backpack further up on her shoulder. She was tall and well-built, defined arms shown off by the tank top she wore, and bright red hair held back with a headband. “I’m looking to find who’s in charge of any ill refugees. You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

“Unfortunately not, serah. We only just arrived ourselves. I’m sorry.” Aveline sighed in response, but nodded in understanding.

“You’re welcome to wait here with us,” Bethany offered. “Always good to have a friend in a new city, right?”

Aveline smiled gratefully. “True. I don’t think I caught your names.”

“Bethany Hawke, and this is my brother Garret.” She gestured to Garret before pointing out where Carver and her parents had wandered off to. “We’re hoping our uncle can help us get into the city.”

“I hope your uncle has some influence, or you’re gettin’ nowhere.”

Garret and Aveline turned to where the gravelly voice came from. “Excuse me?” he said.

The man grunted, greasy black hair falling in his face and beard unkempt as he lounged against the wall, arm resting on his drawn-up knee. “Y’heard me. Unless you’ve got the pull, you’re nothing but a roach in this city. Welcome to Kirkwall, folks.”

“You act like you live here,” Aveline said. “Why are you shut in with refugees?”

“Left for stuff and came back with piss-poor timing, that’s what.” He grunted again as he pushed himself off the ground. “I’m a roach to them, same as you. If you’re special, you’ll be a fly that slips by with no one noticin’.” He stalked off into the crowd without another word, and Garret quickly lost sight of him.

“Maker’s breath, what was that about?” Bethany asked quietly. “Was he alright?”

“I don’t think so,” Aveline replied, eyes narrowed and scanning the crowd. “He’s gone now, though.”

“I hope he’s wrong, I’d rather not like to get crushed here,” Garret said. “Hey, is that a medic’s symbol?”

Aveline and Bethany turned to face where Garret was looking, difficult for Bethany being nearly a foot shorter than her brother. Aveline hurried off, Garret following her after sending Bethany to their mother.

“Ser! Ser!” Aveline’s voice boomed across the sea of people as she hurriedly approached the medic. He looked up at her once she approached. “Where do I go to find the ill refugees?”

The medic shook his head. “Ain’t no gettin’ to them, I’m afraid. Those with just a cold and what not will be through once they’re better, but anyone with a sign of the Ferelden plague is quarantined. If they survive, they’re sent home. If not, well. No cure for death, I’m afraid.” He wrote something quickly on the clipboard he was carrying before looking back up at Aveline. “Who are you looking for?”

“My husband,” she snarled. “Now answer me again, where can I find him?” She’d gotten up in his face, but the man seemed unfazed.

He sighed. “I’ll see if they’ll let you visit, but I can’t promise, not with this being as infectious as it is. Best you’ll get is a talk through glass if he’s lucid.”

“Better than letting him die alone,” she glared. “Get me through.”

He motioned for her to follow him through an employee-only zone, leaving Garret to wait just outside of it. He sought out his mother, still on the phone and now making agitated hand motions, and found his father had gotten back from talking to the security officers and was now with the twins. He started at a commotion behind the door, another medic rushing down the hallway as screams were faintly heard on his radio.

Garret just hoped Aveline was alright.

Ten minutes later, she was brought out by one of the medics, pale and with a smear of blood on her arm. “I truly am sorry, serrah. It was all we could do.”

“I know,” she replied, voice monotone. “A merciful death.”

“Aveline, are you alright!?” Garret started, throwing his arm around her shoulder and away from the crowd.

“Wesley’s dead. My husband, he’s- ” she shut her eyes and took one large, shuddering breath. “He’s gone. I’m on my own here, now. I can grieve later.”

“For what it’s worth, you’re not on your own,” he offered quietly. “You’re with me, however far we have to go.”

“You’re quick to offer your friendship, Hawke.”

“Who can say no to this irresistible charm? C’mon, Aveline, the beard is a statement in and of itself!”

She snorted in laughter. “Fine, Hawke. I’m with you.”

He grinned. “Great. Time to meet the rest of the family.”

+

Leandra had finally gotten through to Gamlen, although not without him complaining every other breath about something or other. The city officials really weren’t letting anyone through, for any reason, even with Malcolm’s medical license as documentation.

Three days later, Gamlen arrived at the airport with a slim woman at his side, hat and large glasses concealing her face.

“Gamlen!” Leandra cried, embracing her brother. He awkwardly hugged her back as the woman next to him snickered. “Thank the Maker you finally got here!”

“Leandra, do you have any idea what kind of strings I’ve had to pull to even get you into Lowtown?” he sighed, running his hand through thinning grey hair. He hadn’t aged well, wrinkles crossing his face and deep bags under his eyes. “This isn’t coming cheap.”

“What happened to the estate? Surely that pulls _some_ weight.”

“There _is_ no estate, Leandra. It’s long gone.”

“What?”

Malcolm interrupted before they could argue again. “We’ll worry about all that later, love. How are we getting into the city, Gamlen?”

“That’s where I come in,” the woman announced. She was in a sharp suit jacket and slacks, her combat boots clashing with the rest and betraying that this wasn’t her usual attire. “Athenril. Some of you will be paying your way into the city through me.”

“What?” Leandra’s eyes had gone wide. “Gamlen, what did you _do_?”

“Greased some palms, pulled some favors, owe even more. I told you this wouldn’t come cheap.”

Athenril waved her hand, catching everyone’s attention. “You’ll be helping me ferry some things into and out of the city, nothing too major. Or you’ll be guarding the ones I have ferrying if that’s what you’re better at. Up to you.”

“I’m not a damned smuggler,” Malcolm growled.

She eyed him. “You’re the doctor, right? I’ll find you a clinic, no worries. No promise of pay, but I’ll figure something out. You’ll do something legal and righteous if that’s your thing.”

Bethany paled. “I don’t think I can do this, Uncle.”

Garret grit his teeth. “How long will we be working with you?”

“About a year,” she answered. “If you do well, and get me some good haul, maybe less.”

“Well,” he grinned, swallowing dread and putting on enthusiasm for show, “what’s a year?”

“Excellent. We’ll sort everything out tomorrow.” She turned to Gamlen. “Get the ones who’ll be with me at the docks at sunrise tomorrow. Don’t be late.” She waved as she sauntered out.

Gamlen sighed. “Well, let’s get going.”

“I…where should I go?” Aveline muttered to herself. “The force, maybe.”

“Aveline! You’re with us, I told you that!” Garret said, throwing his arm over her shoulder once again. He pulled Bethany under his other arm as they began walking. “Think of it as an adventure, and we’re all off to find riches!”

“You mean we’re going to try to not get killed.” Carver was more agitated than usual, but was quiet as they left the airport.

“One and the same thing, little brother. One and the same.”


End file.
